Believe in Miracles
by HollyC
Summary: A tag for "Say Amen"


After "Say Amen"

A whacky little vignette which came to me after watching Say Amen.

Stan was seated at his untidy desk trying to finish his report on the murder at the Unfettered Evangelical Church of the Holy Bible. The spelling had been giving him no end of trouble. He had finally settled for "unfestered".

His took a gulp of his M and M saturated coffee and looked over at Fraser. His friend was uncharacteristically silent, Stetson on knee, he was tracing a pattern on the brim with a forefinger.  
"So whaddya think?"

Fraser looked up briefly to answer, "About what, Ray?"

"About miracles. That healing thing. Ya reckon she can really do it?  
Eloise?"

The Mountie shifted in his seat a little before answering, "Well Ray, there is a lot of evidence to suggest that faith can be a powerful force and that if you believe in something enough, with the correct catalyst, you will achieve it."

Stan felt a little lost so he nodded and commented, "Cata- yeh, right Fraser, buddy." He returned to his paperwork for a few seconds then looked over at the Mountie. It seemed to him that Fraser was preoccupied about something and was merely indulging the detective rather than involving himself in the discussion.

He took a mouthful of coffee then,  
"So you saying yes or no?"

"Ray, the circumstances are complex in the extreme and given that-"

The cop held up a hand and interrupted curtly, "Okay Fraser, what I want to know is, I guess, dya think the kid woulda made it anyway?"

Fraser thought before giving his reply, "I think that love can empower a person. And in some cases it can give one the will to live."

Stan nodded, "Yeah," and studied Fraser carefully. No matter how hard he tried he could not make eye contact. Something sure was bothering the Mountie.

"So is that yeah or no?" Stan was becoming irritated now with Fraser's obtuseness. Could the guy never give a straight answer?

Shrugging, he returned once more to his paperwork but the silence bothered him. The Mountie hadn't even offered his help. Usually he would come in and tidy the desk or rearrange the file cabinet or do some of that fast typing that so amazed everyone. Sometimes he even chatted with witnesses or perps. Now Fraser did not respond, he was engrossed in his hat brim, picking non existent lint off it.  
"Something wrong man? Hey Frase...earth to Fraser."

Fraser finally looked up, tugged at his ear and replied in a soft voice,  
"What? Sorry Ray, I was just thinking."

"Well, you gonna share buddy? Come on, spill the beans."  
I hope this is gonna be worth hearing, Stan thought as he leaned across the desk, hands clasped together in anticipation. He'd even removed his glasses so as to hear better. Fraser was unfortunately frequently preoccupied with stuff that would never worry him. Weird inconsequential stuff. Something to do with being Canadian and obsessed with manners and protocol and tidiness. Maybe Fraser was hacked off that the desk didn't need tidying. Francesca had done it for him. She owed him a favour for keeping Fraser out of her way the  
last time she had a bad hair day. Stan smiled at the memory of Frannie's hair which had almost looked as experimental as his own.  
He gradually realised that the Mountie was speaking,

"...and were you aware that the Inspector could sing like that?"

"Huh?" asked Stan startled. What was the guy blabbering about? Recovering, he pointed out that he'd always thought that you had to be able to sing to become a Mountie.  
Fraser nodded, "Well there is that. But she sang with such fervour, such gusto. It was quite remarkable. Stirring even. It touched the soul."

Stan frowned, "Well buddy," he cleared his throat and sipped at his cooling coffee, "if you say so." He scowled into the cup, the M and Ms had turned to mush and had blended in with the sugar.

"And," Fraser was in full flow now, "she saved my life with her singing. Do you realise that, Ray? I owe my life to her voice. That remarkable voice. Did you know she had an interest in evangelical choral worship?"  
Stan admitted that he did not and added, "What's all this about? This voice saving ya life and miracles, huh?"

Fraser paused before answering, " It was hearing her voice that did it. I had an epiphany, Ray. Right there in the Church of the Holy Bible. A moment of recognition. " He placed his hat carefully on the desk and patted it. Then he leaned towards the cop and enunciated very slowly. "Now that I know where her interests lie, I'm going to ask the Inspector-"

"Yeh," Stan's own voice was full of anticipation, he was anxious to discover what an epiphany might be. This epiphany of Fraser's in particular.  
"You're gonna ask the ice queen to what Fraser? Come on don't keep me in suspense, what are ya gonna ask her?"

Fraser leaned back and tutted, "If you'd kindly let me finish, Ray. I was about to say that I intend to ask her to join me in-"

But Stan would not let him finish. His excitement got the better of him and he called out gleefully, "Ya gonna ask the ice queen to marry ya, aren't ya? Why you dark horse, and I thought you had less of it than I did. I thought things were cooled down between the two of ya. Was it her saving yer life that did it, then, huh? Or was it the influence of the two young lovers?"

Stan became aware then of another presence at his desk. Frannie was standing beside him, her arms full of folders which she hugged close to her chest. She was staring open mouthed at the Mountie and a tear coursed slowly down her red cheek. Then suddenly the folders fell with a heavy thud onto Fraser's hat, dislodging the coffee cup which spilled its contents onto the almost finished open report. As for Francesca she fled sobbing to the bathroom before either man could offer a word of comfort or apology.  
Stan met Fraser's gaze and both men shrugged their shoulders. Fraser wondered if he would ever truly understand what motivated Francesca Vecchio.  
She was an enigma and she terrified him.  
Stan nudged him with the phone and he jerked his head up, startled from his contemplation of the erratic civilian aide.

"Go on, phone her. Do it, man." Stan made a point of soaking up the coffee from his report with the sleeve of his shirt.

"Ray, Ray, Ray, that won't work." As he said this he was removing the folders from his hat. It wasn't too badly damaged and a swift punch restored the crown to its rightful shape. He stroked the restored headgear reverently.

The cop did not pause in his cleaning up,"Sure it will, Frase, ya just dial the Consulate number and ask for Margaret Thatcher. The rest is easy. Piece of cake."

"No, Ray, I mean a shirt sleeve is not the most effective way to remove coffee stains from paper. What you need to do is throw it in the trash and start again."

Stan replied that Fraser was not going to get off the hook that easy and began punching in the relevant numbers himself.  
When the line connected he nodded at his friend and giving him a  
conspiratorial wink asked for the Inspector's extension.  
Then he handed the phone to Fraser and said, "Go on then, ask her out."  
Fraser grimaced as he took the phone. Stan, meanwhile balled up his report and threw it at the trash. He scowled as it landed a good three inches away from its intended target. He leaned back on two legs of his chair and ran both hands through the tufts of hair at the back of his head. However Fraser's words to the Inspector made him lose balance. He pulled himself up off the floor as Fraser replaced the receiver with customary precision.

"I can't believe you just did that. You were all fired up ta ask the woman out and what did ya say to her? You really are somethin', ya know that? Ya really..."  
Stan shook his head, words failed him.

"Ray, I said to her exactly what I had planned to. I asked her to put her not inconsiderable talents to good use. And , what's more," Fraser's smile lit up his face. He was in ecstasy. "She said yes, Ray. She agreed to come and join me this Saturday at the rehearsals for the St Michael's Choir presentation of Beethoven's Mass. Father Behan will be delighted. I don't think he really forgave me for that fiasco with Francesca. When he hears the Inspector sing he will finally have the best choir in Chicago. We'll be able to enter competitions and festivals. It will be just like-"

But Stan was no longer listening. In fact he was no longer there, having given up on his friend he had gone to find Francesca to console her and tell her the truth. That Fraser was not getting married to the Ice Queen, not now, and probably not ever. In fact, Stan could not imagine Fraser getting round to asking any woman to marry him. Not unless some miracle were to happen.

And Stan did not really believe in miracles, did he?


End file.
